


Please...

by Deathbyhook



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Vanilla Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-08 08:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12860304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathbyhook/pseuds/Deathbyhook
Summary: Frank Castle somehow finds himself saying please only when he’s talking about- or talking to- Karen Page. This woman seems to be the only person to get him to say please...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sacramento](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sacramento/gifts).



> This first chapter is really my take on how I’d like to see Kastle eventually happen. The second chapter is smut with a side of characterization... you’ve been warned. 
> 
> This is for my Kastle sister, Kenobios, on tumblr.

A few months pass. He hasn’t spoken to anyone outside of the group. Not really. A few of the guys help him out with jobs, always the odd-end jobs. Construction, repairs, hauling.

He works, goes to group once a week, and he sleeps... rinse, repeat; remix with a little food and hygiene maintenance and you’ve got yourself a semi-functional individual. He’s trying to find something to hold onto. He’s itching. He needs to do something- find something.

—————————

“Tell me,” Curtis asks after Frank is done with his say- after the group leaves, “do you still dream about them?”

Frank rolls his shoulders. Rolling off the lancing pain from the shock of the question. He wants to tell Curtis to shut his mouth and mind his own damn business. But that’s Frank from months ago. He knows Curtis is keeping tabs. Obligatory check in. All that... he licks his teeth. A squinching noice echoes in the empty space between them.

“No,” his voice is pained. Frank stands up abruptly from the chair; the metal whining along the ground as it slides a bit. He kicks a loose bit of the cement floor. Dust kicks up with it.

“Sure, you don’t,” Curtis’s voice is peeved. Upset Frank won’t confide in him- his best friend. Upset his friend is still warring with the loss of his family... Frank doesn’t correct Curtis. But it wasn’t a lie. He doesn’t dream about them anymore. It’s not something he’s proud of.

How could he let go of them? How could he have let them slip away so easily? No- it’s easier to have his friend believe he’s still haunted by his family. Better than the alternative; that he’s a fraud. A man who killed a hundred or so people for his kids and wife, only to forget about them once it was done.

“Frank?” He snaps out of his thoughts, and half looks at Curtis then back at his boots; a kicked dog hiding its guilt, “Frank- it’s okay to let them go. It’s okay to let the mission go.”

“Is it?” His voice is laced with defiance. Defense. But that was the real heart of it. The real heart of even why these men even met once a week.

“It has to be. Letting it go? That’s the new mission.”

“Ah- common, Curt! Don’t get sappy on me now; you sound like a romantic movie,” Frank jokes. They laugh. And then they don’t. They just look at each other. Pensive. Understanding. They nod. Frank leaves.

—————————————

It’s six months and he’s hating himself a little less for not having the dreams. He goes to check up on some of Maria’s family. Keeps tabs on her parents. They don’t know he’s there.

One week they start putting boxes out on the front porch. Her name is labeled on them. Maria’s father, sets the last one down. Puts a note on top with a paper weight over it.

Then he looks up, looks around, until his eyes train on Frank’s position. Her father can’t see him. The man was blind from cataracts, but Frank knew. They knew he was there.

Later that night, Frank pulls the van up to the curb and hauls the boxes into the back of his van. The note tucked into his jacket pocket.

He paces all night after bringing the boxes into his studio. Biting his knuckles and punching the air. He slipped up somehow, and shame on him for it. He sits. He pulls out the note.

Thank you. Now go be the man that deserved my daughter. X

For the first time in what feels like forever, Frank Castle cries. He dreams that night too... It’s Maria and his kids, they’re smiling and waving, but they’re leaving this time. No gunfire. No horror. Just his family letting him go.

—————————————

It’s been a half year. And Karen Page is still Karen Page. Calm, cool, collected.

She goes to the Bulletin every morning, she chases her leads, she writes her articles on time with the deadline. She goes home. Has a beer. She sleeps. Rinse. Repeat.

Matt is dead, the city seems quiet, and Frank Castle hasn’t shown his face. So her quiet life is quiet.

She still has flashes. She can still smell the blood and burning flesh. Can still feel Frank’s chest pushed up, so tight, behind her. Can still feel the barrel of the gun pressed up against her pulse-point.

She dreams about him kissing her. Holding her. Staying. Watches every night as the blood and fury wash away, and it’s just him. Standing before her, with that wide eyed look he gave her sometimes. Like wonder and terror mixed together like an undeniable admission that he felt the same as she did.

But then she wakes up. And she realizes he’s gone. And he very well isn’t coming back.

—————————————

It’s been a year. Karen finishes up her latest article. Submits it. No pre-editing... She nearly got shot for this one. Ellison can deal.

She should feel pride. It’s one of her best works. But when the whoosh sound signifies the article has been sent, she feels numb. Except for the furious bruise on her bandaged shoulder.

She almost died. And no one saved her.

Karen closes the laptop and leaves the Bulletin. She’s on vacation now. Ellison is letting her take a break- a much deserved break.

The street on her block is mercifully slow enough that she parks easily, locks the car, and makes her way up to her apartment. Karen is letting all the tension roll off her as she mentally prepares herself for a week of naps and wine and binge watching her favorite action series- again.

She stops dead in her tracks. Right in front of her door is none other than Frank Castle. He’s leaning against the adjacent wall, foot restless as his heel taps, forearms exposed under the dark sleeves of his hoodie, hands are shoved into pockets.

“Jesus, Frank,” she slaps a hand onto her chest. She winces, she had used her bad arm. She sees his eyes dart to her shoulder. Watches as his eyes take in the thin strip of gauze that peaks out from under her silk v-neck blouse. He looks pissed, all the lines on his face are hard and gloomy; except his eyes. They are softer somehow. He doesn’t say anything. She swallows.

“What, no homeless disguise?” She tries to diffuse the tension. But he won’t budge, and a muscle in his jaw twinges. She’s almost worried he’d come here as The Punisher, but she doesn’t recall having done anything worth punishing. Karen turns towards her door, unlocking it and opens the door.

He follows her in. Closes the door, and locks it. Her heart skips a beat.

“Frank, you’re scaring me,” her voice is wobbly. And if she were honest with herself, the fear was not from the idea he’d come to harm her. She knows he won’t. He wouldn’t; couldn’t. But he’s frozen by the door. Breathing a little too controlled, and his fists are at his sides.

“I’m scaring you?” It was barely above a whisper. She asks him to say it again. That does it.

“I said, I’m the one scaring _you_?!” His eyes are full of so many emotions. Namely fear and a gut punching relief. His eyes are ricocheting all over her. Her hair, her cheeks, her shoulder- he winces- then gives a full sweep of her. Like he was scanning her for any ticks or bruises. She crosses her arms over herself. He darts his eyes away, and rakes his hands over his cropped hair.

“ _Yes_!” She hisses back, “you are scaring me! I haven’t seen you in a year. Haven’t heard as much as a whisper from you- Hell I didn’t know if you were even alive. And you show up looking every much as you do when you’re The Punisher, and you’re mad at me?! I almost got _killed_ last week. I don’t need this right now.”

She realizes that last admission throws a spear in his side. Sees the undeniable wetness rimming his eyes. And it all clicks; despite her denial and refusal to acknowledge why he was here. His eyes looking at her like a kid terrified of finding a ghost. Relieved to find a breathing human.

“ _Karen_ ,” he means to be gentle. She knows. Like she somehow always understands, but it comes out gravelly and stern. She supposes he also means to scold her. But they both know where that conversation goes; The Punisher or not, he’d lose.

Karen finally drops her bag, so she can raise her good arm. She walks over to him. The small hallway still dark, the whole apartment only lit by a few scattered accent lamps. He leans into her palm that reaches up to cup his cheek, eyes closed, and she gasps. The small moment so much more overt than she’d expected. She hand jumps from his skin, but only just. Barely an inch between the two points. Her body is humming.

“I-“ she doesn’t know what she wants to say, but his eyes are on her eyes, and their breathing is short and quick. His lips part and tremor like he’s silently praying. Confessing. She blinks, staring at their fullness. He licks his lips and she jumps; shaking herself out of her stupor.

“Want a beer?” She hates that her voice cracks. He chuckles roughly. The sound a half laugh, half gasp. Like he’d been startled as well.

“Yeah- yeah. Thanks,” His voice is softer. Back to the Frank she knows so well. And her heart swells with warmth at the sound.

“So, I take it you heard about my last story before you got here,” she snaps the caps off the bottles on the counter before a she makes her way to the living room where he’s standing. Her eyes dart up to him, and he’s staring at her hands wrapped around the shafts of the bottles. She clears her throat. Her cheeks hot and tingling. Her rear finds the dip in her favorite spot of the sofa. Karen reaches out so he can grab the bottle.

“Um,” he sniffs, rubbing the back of his free hand on the tip of his nose, red from the cold, “Yeah... David got a hold of me... he- uh-“

“He keeps an eye on me,” she says it breathlessly. Sans her usual disdain and chastisement. Foregoing her “I can take care of myself” speech, because honestly- she can’t. And her extraneous choice in career doesn’t guarantee she won’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere, “was that your idea?”

“No,” he’s honest. But he looks like he thinks perhaps that was the dumbest decision he’s ever made.

“Why was Lieberman watching me, then?” Frank smirks and ducks his head. Runs a thumb across his plump lips. Blushing.

“He likes to look out for family,” _my family_ , He omits. She holds back her emotions. Afraid that if he sees the wave of sentiment wash over the ridge of her lower lashes, he might bolt.

“Frank- I,” the lash line of his eyes stretch and flicker as he looks around; everywhere but at her. They never could find a way to look at each other in these moments. But she needs him to. Karen sees what’s really been keeping them apart...

She stands, setting the bottle on the coffee table. The glass making an almost pleasant sound in the silence, grinding upon the wood. Again, his eyes watch the movement, avoiding her eyes.

“Karen,” he sounds like he’s on a battlefield. Like he’s fighting and terrified and full of adrenaline. And maybe he is. But she hears his guilt, hears the confession before he can speak... Maybe for him this new terrain wasn’t a part of the plan. But dammit if she isn’t falling for this man; if she hasn’t already. Dammit if she wasn’t willing to get into this trench with him and map out the territory.

“I’m not going to ask you to forget them,” with that Frank’s meets her gaze. She’s not quite next to him yet. He’s still standing by the window on the opposite end of the living room, “I won’t ever ask that of you. And when you’re ready, you can tell me about them. I want to know. I’d like to know Maria. The woman who loved you. But I want you to know- they’re always welcome here. You are always welcome here. They are a part of you.”

A tear wells up and falls over onto her cheek. Karen’s voice is pinched, stifled by emotions. He’s shaking.

“I want you to know I’m not going anywhere. I’m not letting go. I don’t want to hurt you, can’t guarantee I won’t, but I won’t leave you in the gutter. We’re in this together, and I’m going to need you, too.”

She’s standing a few inches from him now. Her hands hovering over his arms. Not touching him, she resolved not to until she’s certain.

“You told me once to use both hands, remember?” He nods, perhaps a little too quickly, “if I grab hold of this- whatever we are- are you going to let me? Because I don’t know if can do it alone.”

And then she’s in his arms. He’s pulled her to him. Huffing out a sigh of utter relief. She is held tight. They can’t breathe, but it feels right. Like all the air in the world can take a hike, as long as they hold each other.

“ _Please_ ,” he whines in her ear. His nose and lips swiping up along the side of her neck and cheek. And she doesn’t have to ask what he means. Slowly, but surely, Karen roams her hands under his coat to slip it off his shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been three minutes, and they are all mouths and sighs.

Frank’s hands are on her ribs, his fingers finding the slots between each row. Pressing into the softness. Reminding himself of the care he needs to take with her. Karen bites his lip, reminding him how far he can go.

“ _Frank_ ,” it’s a growl and a prayer, spoken between a nip and a flick of her tongue on the upper side of his mouth. The tip of it tracing the backside of his front two teeth. He nearly spends himself right there. Her hands find the ridge of his shirt, and she’s tugging it up. Frank pulls away reluctantly, craving her lips as soon as he does, to help her remove the tank.

Her eyes are wide, and shuttered breath escapes her chest. Frank’s throat aches from the emotion he tries to swallow down. She blinks slowly, a smile squinting her eyes as they open again. He swears time slowed down. Karen leans forward to kiss his throat, right where it bobbed not two seconds ago. The back of her fingertips tracking up along his middle until they flip and her palms spread across his chest. One hand slants under his pectoral to feel the staccato of his heart. She hums. He shivers.

“Karen,” It sounds suspiciously like he’s scolding her, but she’s right there with him. Dragging teeth and tongue along his pulse point, as she works at the buttons of her blouse. Rolling it off her shoulders; trying to at least. She winces again. Frank lays a warm hand on her bad shoulder; the heat is soothing and the flames flush out the throbbing. They chuckle; she depreciatingly, and he rueful. She bends her head just so to kiss his hand.

“We’ll just have to be careful, though I can’t make any promises,” she teases. He smirks.

“We can wait,” he says. Because he can. For her? He’d do anything. He’d die for her. Because she’s the kind of woman to ask you to live for them... She has already.

“Frank Kastle, you may be The Punisher, but you don’t scare me,” Karen hands have found themselves at his belt. She tugs at it firmly, unbuckling it; the jingle of the metal loud and shocking despite their shortened breaths.

No she wasn’t afraid of him. Her eyes boring into his. Seeing everything in him. Like she always has. Tearing him to pieces as she sees every layer. Maria had once too, and it broke her heart. To see the man she once knew disappear, slowly- surely.

“Hey,” Karen ducks her head to meet his eyes. Frank didn’t realize he’d drifted. Her eyes are sad, but not in a desperate way. Sad in that way that she sees a part of herself there; an empathy.

She’s standing before him, the blouse is undone and pooling at her sides where it’s tucked into her skirt. He traces the fabric with one finger for a few seconds. The tip of it brushing against her hip underneath and her breath catches. This woman was going to be the death of him... Or his rebirth.

“I _need_ you,” Frank whispers. He means it. Doesn’t change the fact it feels like sand paper. Doesn’t change the fact that it feels like a marrow donation, being drawn from his very bones. Because he’s really saying _I love you_... It’s been months and months since he’s said the actual words. Maybe even years- he can’t remember when he last said it with his family.

She doesn’t say anything. Somehow she knows saying it back would feel like a betrayal to him right now. So she smiles slightly, and brings her forehead to his; conveying as much as she can with the gesture. They rock a little. Swaying in the overwhelming feeling of each other. His hands slide under her shirt and under her blouse, working his way to untuck the smooth fabric. Once the shirt is free he makes his way to the zipper on the back of her skirt. The sound stark and maddening in the silence between them. He twitches in his jeans.

Karen shimmies out of the tight impediment, and she standing before him in her lingerie and blouse, the lacy undergarments hugging her ivory skin so perfectly. He smiles adoringly it the red lines that formed on her middle where the shirt had been tucked in. His fingers tickling them. She chuckles, grabbing his hand and holds it firm to her body.

“Frank, take me to bed,” he is thankful he’s had plenty of military raining to know an order when he hears one- and doubly grateful, he follows orders promptly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he presses himself to her from chest to knees, grinding his erection against her through his jeans. One swift motion and her blouse is gone. Her breath catches again, and he steals it with an open mouth on hers. His hand cups her rear before groping her thighs, lifting her to straddle him. He sways pleasantly as he walks them to her bed. Her lithe body squirming and grinding on his hips.

“Hnng,” she whines, as they fall onto the mattress and the thick of him bumps her apex. The sound is heaven to his ears and he keens forward, his hips seeking friction of their own accord.

“Fuck,” he’s balancing on one elbow, eyeing her from head to naval, “you’re so beautiful.”

She’s already flush, and his words make her scarlet. But only on her cheeks and the swell of her breasts. He can’t help it, he peppers the skin with kisses. They become less endearing, and more devouring.

“Frank- _please_ ,” she whines, folding he legs up and using her feet to pull down his pants. He helps her, though without any thought. His mind focused solely on tasting her skin.

“Humph,” He slips and lands next to her, mercifully missing her shoulder. He decides to take the moment to pull the damned pants off, of not rip them altogether. She is chuckling at him when they fall to the side of the bed. He smiles ate her, and kisses her bandaged shoulder.

“We’re going to have to re-wrap that when we’re done,” he says, fingering a loose piece of gauze.

“Oh joy,” Karen watches his finger play with the material. She takes the moment to play, too. To get Frank back on track.

Her hand slides up along his inner thigh. He jumps. His eyes meets hers, and he nearly comes from the sheer hunger in her eyes. Four fingers become one as she gently slides it across his half hard length. His eyes flutter shut, and his forehead falls forward. She hisses. His forehead hit a bruise. He doesn’t have time to regret it though, she palms him and grabs a firm hold of his shaft. Pumping.

“Oh, God,” he chokes. The overwhelming heat of her hand, and his blood pounding vehemently in every limb. He’s hard now. Painfully. And he needs-

“I need you inside me, now,” Karen is shaking, even her voice, and his eyes shoot up to catch her gaze. He shakes his head. 

Situating himself between her thighs, his fingers work themselves between her folds. She’s slick; ready. And he hums with delight. All his care going into the touches. Her back arches off the bed and her thighs clap shut over his forearm; too sensitive and she shutters noticeably.

“Did you just-?” He’s beside himself. Pre-cum leaks from his hot and firm tip.

She can’t reply. She simply shakes her head, yes. Biting down on a finger. Her other hand finds its way to feel the expanse of his chest and stomach. Kneading. He swears she purrs.

“Frank- now,” she pants. And he obliges.

Slowly, surely, he sinks into her. Her knees brought up tight to his ribs.

Karen feels every inch of him. Every ridge, every thump of his pulse. It’s hot and hard, and right. Her walls flutter around him; adjusting. And his hips jerk. Rocking against her clit, and she arches off the mattress again.

“Move- please,” She’s close already, she just needs a few more... one, two, three. Four. And she’s a goner. This is almost comical, how quickly his cock makes her cum. But he feels so right in her. And her heart hammering with content tell her what she suspected; that there’d be no coming back from this.

Her orgasm spurs Frank on. His thrusts go deeper. Firmer. His hands cradle her head, and he rocks into her. Their pants synchronize and his shaft is somehow fuller and more alive; twitching. Bumping up inside her against that rough spot, as he cums with a delicious whine.

“Oh yes- yes— yes!” she cries, as his sporadic impassioned orgasm pushes over into her third.

He doesn’t leave from inside her right away. And she doesn’t want him to leave either. So they lay there, reveling in the connection.

“I need you, too,” she kisses his temple. And he holds her closer.  
—————————————

It’s been an hour.

They’re asleep. Showered. Karen’s shoulder is bandaged with a new dressing. Her tendrils of hair spills over onto a pillow. Next to her is Frank castle. Holding her to his chest. Watching her sleep. He knows he won’t dream tonight... And for tonight he’ll be okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all liked it hehe


End file.
